Ashes
by silver celtic dragon
Summary: Harry Potter is assumed to have died after defeating Voldemort in the final battle (will be slash)


Disclaimer: ::sigh:: I wish I owned Harry Potter, I could really use the money, but since I don't I'll just stick to writing fan fiction even if it may not be that great.

Time change/scene change: - - - -

Three years. It had been three years since the final battle with Voldemort. Three years since so many undeserving people died. Three years since Voldemort was killed and Harry Potter had vanished from the world.

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James stepped out into the chilly morning of New York City. His long black hair with crimson ends had fallen out of its braid during the night and now fluttered in the gentle wind. He leaned against the balcony admiring the view that the suite offered of the city. He always loved to stay at this hotel when he had photo shoots in New York. The quiet darkness of the November morning surrounded him as snow began to fall. He pulled the blanket closer to his body as his mind was pulled back in time.

- - - - - - - (begin flashback - three years ago, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry) - - - - - - 

His hands were numb from the cold of the night and from gripping the sword tightly. He swung up, blocking another blow from his opponent. Despite the cold of the night he was sweating profusely.

"What's the matter, Potter," spat Voldemort, "getting tired? It seems to be past your bedtime, but I'll help put you to sleep."

"Your right, Voldemort, perhaps I should rest. Afterall, I wouldn't want to become as ugly as you and never get laid," Harry smirked. He had been insulting the Dark Lord for the past two hours as they dueled. The time was drawing near to cast the final blow.

Concentrating, Harry forced his magic to flow into Gryffindor's sword, combining the two magic's. The spell he was using was deadly not only to the receiver, but to the caster as well. The spell that could not be spoken destroyed both the body and the soul entirely so that neither could return.

Harry knew that the chances of him living were slim, but that was a chance he was willing to take. Using the last of his energy he lunged forward, dodging his enemies' sword as his slipped into the chest of the Dark Lord, piercing the heart and releasing the spell that was interwoven into the sword. As the energy sent Harry flying back he could see the spell working its magic. A bright light burst through every pore of the former Dark Lord's body and a terrifying, pain filled scam was ripped from his throat. Harry felt a sharp pain on his head as he landed hard on the ground and lost consciousness.

Silence greeted Harry as he opened his eyes. No more screams filled the darkness. He could hear nothing but the quiet beating of his own heart. Something soft and light landed on his hand. Looking down he could barely make out the object that graced his hand. It was small and reminded him much of a snowflake except this one was gray, and it wasn't cold nor warm. It was an ash. More were falling, as he could feel them lightly land on his body.

"Ring around the roses," he recited in a whispered voice. Was he really even dead? No, he could see and feel and he could even smell the falling ashes.

"Pockets full of posies," but that didn't necessarily mean he was alive either. After all no one truly know what is in the after world he thought.

"Ashes, ashes," that was definitely what was falling from the heavens, but where were they from?

"We all fall down," sighing the raven haired child shut his emerald eyes and slipped into the darkness of his mind leaving behind the world of falling ashes.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -(end flashback) - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - -- - - - - - - -- -- - -- -

The young man was startled out of his reverie as he felt something land on his hand. "Not ashes," he quietly whispered. Turning away form the balcony he headed back into the suite. He was safe, far away form the wizarding world and where the final battle took place. Everyone thought he had died with Voldemort that night and he wanted to keep it that way. His death protected him form the sword that revered him and yet criticized his every fault The fact that he never had to go back should've made him happy, but he wasn't.

Alright ya'll, this is my first fan fic so any comments would be extremely helpful unless they're flamers then I'll feed them to my Hellhound ; )


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